


Do You Even Feel Compassion?

by TwinKats



Series: Don't Write Me A Postscript [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Blackmail, F/M, Gen, Learning to be Human, M/M, Project Freelancer Era, Referenced Drug Use, agent florida is terrifying, also donut, and alpha being a shithead, beware the pain train, but not really kind, hargrove is a dick, hiding danger behind smiles and kindness, it's gonna hit hard here, its kai so what do you expect?, kaikaina is very sexual, kind of, potential sexual implications, potential torture, rivalry gone wrong, sociopathic tendencies abound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 15:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13437963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinKats/pseuds/TwinKats
Summary: Being human means suffering through hardships, through pasts full of mire and muck that sticks and clings to you like a seeping, puss-filled wound. Being human is becoming something more, something better--something strong. Being human is love and lust.Omega Squad never felt quite human.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A series of short stories collected during Project Freelancer depicting primarily Omega Squad and how they got to be where they are in _Don't Write Me A Postscript_.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cornelius Thromwell Andersmith loved his little brother. John was all he had left. He'd do anything to protect him. _Anything._ Even make a deal with the devil.

Corey struggled against the grip of the foreign interlopers. His hands were already bound behind his back, clasped tight with a pair of handcuffs that glowed with a faint light reminiscent of some of the broken alien artifacts his people ran across. He still had a gunshot injury on his left arm that burned angrily, and a dried cut from where his helmet had been ripped off and he’d been pistol whipped into initial unconsciousness.

“Let go of me you cocksucking _bastards!_ ” Corey growled, but one of the armored men just squeezed on his bullet wound and Corey felt the world white out with pain. He grit his teeth and when his vision returned he found himself trapped between the men, now on the bridge of the large space craft that should’ve long crashed into the planet’s surface.

“Cornelius Thromwell Andersmith,” droned an aging man from in front of a few select computer screens. “Talented sniper from the New Republic with _fifty-seven_ kills under his belt. Genius, promising—in line to take Command of the New Republic if your current commander should perish. Is that correct?”

Corey stilled, frowned, and eyed the man. He was dressed richly, like an executive from some large pharmaceutical company or something. Chorus hadn’t had any real economic growth since the Feds started tearing things up, but Corey could remember a time before the war broke out, before everything crumbled into hell and violence.

“Who are you?” Corey said cautiously, because something about this man exuded a sense of _danger_.

“Who I am doesn’t matter,” the man said and turned fully toward Corey with a smile that sent shivers down his spine. “What matters is the proposition I have for you. You see bringing you here was a moment of inspiration—normally I’d have you killed on the battlefield. Talented individuals such as yourself merely make things _harder_ for me in the end.”

Corey frowned. He didn’t understand—but he had a dark feeling that he would soon enough. The man spoke as if he had a hand in the war, as if he had _power_ were they had _none_. For a moment Corey pondered if he were a Fed—could the Feds have infiltrated the New Republic? But no; something about this man didn’t read Chorus native. He _wasn’t_ from Chorus.

“Yet I find myself with a growing problem,” he continued. “You see an old—rival—of mine has recently gained traction with a project of his.” With a smile he walked right up to Corey—he was fairly short, Corey noted. _Definitely_ not Chorus native, then. “Given his genius nature I have no doubt he’ll unearth some uniquely fascinating technology—technology I could use. Unfortunately I don’t have anyone on hand who is talented at infiltration, or even smart enough to not get caught.”

From behind the businessman Corey noted how a dark haired young girl scowled and crossed her arms. It didn’t take a genius to put together that this girl was the one who wasn’t ‘smart enough to not get caught’ that the foreigner mentioned. He wondered what she got caught at, to have her pretty face fall into such a scowl.

“Given your talented and genius nature,” the man continued, “I felt it more prudent to _spare_ you a grisly death and offer you a chance of employment instead. While on the planet you are a…persistent thorn, here you could be useful.”

Corey narrowed his eyes. “Why would I even _want_ to work for you?”

He smiled. “You have a younger brother, don’t you?”

Corey jerked forward, eyes enraged. He spat out, “Don’t you dare touch John!”

“Then do we have an agreement?” he asked lightly. Corey turned his head away and bit his lip. _Shit_ but the threat did scare him. John was all he had left in this life, he couldn’t lose his little brother too.

“What would I get out of it?” Corey asked.

He smiled, pleased. “I will guarantee your brother’s safety from any dangers he might face during these troubling times on Chorus.”

Corey’s head snapped back toward the elder. “How?” he asked, plainly, eyes wide. His stomach roiled. Why was he even considering this?

“I have an inside man. Felix?”

Corey’s head jerked around and landed upon the familiar ash-and-orange armor of a man he thought trustworthy. He felt sick to his stomach. If Felix did work for this—this bastard—then John’s life—John. Corey closed his eyes and turned his head away, even as he felt Felix lay a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t you worry about your little brother,” Felix said cheerfully. “I’ll keep a real close on eye him.”

Corey swallowed heavily. There really wasn’t any choice in the end. He dropped his shoulders, the tenseness leaving him with defeat. If John ever knew—if anyone every knew—Corey could never return home after this. He knew that. They’d never trust him again.

Hollowly, Corey said, “When do I start?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Butch Flowers never expected to be handed off like a piece of property, but here it is. Either he goes with this man, or he faces a fate he long tried to avoid. Was there ever really a choice in the end?

Butch leaned back with a wide smile, hands held up in front of his even if they were handcuffed. He waved cheerfully at the strange UNSC civilian scientist who spoke plainly, and in soft undertones to the arresting officer. With any sort of luck Butch could use the scientist to get out of this mess and remind Carrigan why he didn’t like to be fucked with. After a minute longer of their whispered conversation the officer stormed off, head shaken disappointedly. Butch watched calculatingly as the scientist moved up toward the table and sat down.

“I am Dr. Leonard Church,” Dr. Church said dryly, “Director of Project Freelancer. I have a…proposition for you, Butch Flowers.”

Butch laughed lightly and reached across to offer Dr. Church his hands, which the man shook with a bland, plastic sort of smile.

“What a wonderful pleasure,” Butch said with a wide smile. He tilted his head until his bangs covered up half his face and eyed the soft man before him. “I am in quite the need, as you can see.”

“Yes,” Dr. Church said. “I can see.”

“What would you have me do, Dr. Church?” Butch questioned, and the light of the interrogation room only seemed to highlight the edges that he worked hard to hide beneath a pleasant exterior.

“I know of your work with Marius Tucker,” Dr. Church said. “Obviously you are in quite the mess here, betrayed—correct?” Butch slowly lost his smile. “Marius and I attended college with each other, you see. We used to collaborate in regards to AI theory. Marius rather liked the idea of AI being used in regards to more…illicit, activities.” Dr. Church smiled. “As it is I am in need of someone with your particular set of skills, and Marius has been quite kind enough to allow the chance for you to take up employment with me.”

Butch’s face blanked out. Marius— _willing_ to hand him out to some stranger? Some old college buddy? Just what insane project was this civilian scientist man _involved_ in that needed someone of Butch’s particular skillset.

“I’ll need a bit more to go on, Dr. Church,” Butch said cautiously. “What is…Project Freelancer?”

Dr. Church nodded and carefully pulled out a file—paper, surprisingly—and slid it over toward Butch. Butch flipped it open and began to read. The Project’s aims and goals were very clearly written out—to find a way to integrate AI into the field of battle beyond guidance, analysis, and piloting for the UNSC ships. The main goal was to provide an edge in the Great War—starting with quelling Insurrectionist movements while training up and _enhancing_ Project participants.

“Project Freelancer’s style of enhancements will be beneficial to our soldiers and agents, and yet we’re working carefully to not step on any other Project’s toes…especially, in this case, ONI with their SPARTAN program,” Dr. Church said when Butch looked up.

“And the AI?” Butch questioned.

“It has been posited that an AI could piggyback on the UNSC’s regulation neural implants,” Dr. Church pointed out. “Our main goal is to test this connection and see how far we can stretch it—and how useful in combat it will eventually be. To this end the Project has been granted a Smart AI that you will get to meet if you accept my proposition.”

Butch glanced up. “And Marius wants _me_ to go with _you?_ ” he questioned.

Dr. Church’s smile turned cold as he pushed up his glasses. “Let me make this perfectly clear, Mr. Flowers. Marius has given you a choice—you can join Project Freelancer, or take the risk with the officer and be forcefully remanded into UNSC’s criminal participation program.”

“And you need an assassin?”

“We need soldiers and agents of all types, Mr. Flowers,” Dr. Church said. “Since we are a Project loosely associated with the UNSC there is plenty of…free room, shall we say, and our intel will need to be vetted in some form or matter. I am sure you understand.”

Torture, Butch noted. The man meant torture in regards to gathering intel from enemy combatants, and if someone stood in the way of the Project—well, a raised hitman who’d spent most of his life doing the wet work for a criminal empire would go a long way in the end. Butch wondered how far he could _stretch_ his agreement with Dr. Church—if he agreed.

“If I do this,” Butch said slowly, “I get to pick and choose members of my own team.”

Dr. Church nodded. “There will be a few stipulations—a few Agents that you will not be allowed to pick and choose from, but that is otherwise acceptable.”

“If they need training it will be how _I_ please,” Butch continued.

“Agreeable,” Dr. Church nodded, “as long as they remain mostly sane, I’m sure you understand.” Dr. Church swiped up the file. “Any further discussions about the terms of your employment can be made upon the _Mother of Invention_. That is, if you are agreeing to join Project Freelancer?”

Butch leaned back, and the smile that crept across his face was slow and devious. “Why I think we have a deal, Dr. Church. I’m sure it’ll be a pleasure working together.”

Dr. Church nodded. “I’m sure.”


End file.
